


Dogpile

by Birdie_Lo_Green



Series: 31 Day Prompt Advent by dreaminghour [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Beekeeping, Bees, Dogpile dodesn't mean poop, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, M/M, Mead, Period drama slow burn finger brushing is the peak of physical romance, Sassy Will Graham, So are descriptions of Hannibal's office
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:07:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24445546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdie_Lo_Green/pseuds/Birdie_Lo_Green
Summary: Talk in one of Will's early sessions with Hannibal turns to beekeeping and selective breeding.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: 31 Day Prompt Advent by dreaminghour [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1765384
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	Dogpile

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as part of a 31 Day Prompt Advent. Created by my friend and fellow writer @dreaminghour for December 2019, each prompt was a random photo and a word. Both have been included at the end of this prompt.

“An apiarian civilisation would better serve humanity,” Hannibal said, pouring mead into tulip shaped glasses with conical stems. Will knew better than to accept drinks from strange men and yet poisoning was beneath the one serving. Hannibal lived and murdered for taste and delectation and the proof was all around them. The stage for conversations consisted of a pair of mid century armchairs set at a comfortable distance from one another. Daylight streamed in from two tall windows draped in boldly striped curtains, red and white like blood and milk. Between them sat a potted bonsai: symbolic of peace, harmony and the order of thoughts. The very frequency of their talks supported Will’s suspicion that Hannibal perceived him as a rare collector’s item. “Bees are bred and reared with deliberate selection of desirable characteristics to encourage docility and productivity.”

Sitting opposite, mirroring body language Hannibal unbuttoned his jacket and watched as Will breathed in the structured layers of the mead’s bouquet. Light floral aromas lingered at the lip whilst tastes of grass and oak were unearthed with every sip. Will preferred it to the full bodied wines Hannibal often served alongside dinner.   
“The definition of eugenics,” Will remarked in response to his morbid description of beekeeping. Hannibal smirked and raised his glass to him. “At least in relation to mankind…” Will thought out loud as was his habit under Hannibal’s gaze which was both lenient and beguiling. “For other species I suppose the term is ‘selective breeding’.”

“Your pack of rescues were bred to no specification and would lose competitions of pedigree.”  
“And yet not one deserved their abandonment,” Will defended his family, each chosen on zero basis of aesthetic requirements, but because they were in need of protection and affection.  
“All of this art, literature and music that you so adore would never have been born in a world where people were designed with productivity and docility in mind.” Hannibal looked around at his carefully curated office and then back at Will where he was sitting at the centre of it: out of place in his plaid shirt and khaki military jacket. Had Will been neuro-typical, productive in a manner that didn’t involve high levels of empathy, lacking his ability to understand men who saw docility as an invitation for barbarity, their paths might never have crossed.   
“Masterpieces marinate in strife,” Hannibal agreed, draining the last of his mead. His voice and the dying light of golden hour washed over Will like honey. After a trying week working the field, one evening spent in Hannibal’s office, where the fire crackled beneath the mantle and classical music played softly on vinyl, came as respite from criminals he had to crawl inside to fight. Though what they spoke about seemed inconsequential at the time, Will would crawl into bed feeling unburdened. The high quality alcohol Hannibal plied him with no doubt helped loosen his tongue and dissipate tension, relieving the more distracting symptoms of Will’s autism.  
“Injustice provokes protest,” he said, allowing Hannibal to top up their glasses, fingers brushing as he handed Will’s back to him. “It...provides a contrast...to visions of a utopian life.” Hannibal remained by Will’s seat, intent to press his aversion to physical contact.   
“Bees buzz away in their servitude and then die for the hive come the winter.” Will watched his lips rather than his eyes. “Sacrificing themselves to ensure others wellbeing. What sets you apart from them?”

Uncomfortable with the proximity and the question, Will placed his mead down on the side table between them and stood, pacing between the armchairs.   
“I’m certainly not buzzing,” he replied and Hannibal watched him pace with a face that said otherwise. Will stopped dead before the fire, staring into it. He refused to admit that for years he’d simply gone through the motions of living. “And once the winter comes we have better methods of warming ourselves. Thermostats, flames, comforters, baths, hot water bottles-”  
“Companions?” Hannibal cut off his listing, bridging the distance to join Will before the fire, “Dog piles even?” Will smiled and caught his breath. Though his cabin had several beds, his had been moved to the room where his dogs slept. There was something comforting about having them next to him, their breathing and individual scents, the sounds of them whimpering and fidgeting as they dreamed of chasing things. Will was accepted by them and yet he was their master. Though neither said anything, Hannibal remained beside him, mind buzzing with thoughts and dreams that were all his own. Were Will not a dog owner, he’d have felt absolutely no urgency to return home.

 **Image** : 

  
**Word** : apiarian (of, like or pertaining to bees or beekeeping).


End file.
